


Benedict Cumberbatch and the Nerd

by charlottesweb



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Шерлок Холмс | Sherlock Holmes (TV 2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottesweb/pseuds/charlottesweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day I received the email from PBS I couldn't believe my good fortune. I had won a trip to the UK and a walk on part for the show Sherlock-BBC. So, a month later and I still can’t believe I am on a plane to London. It’s an amazing turn of events because well nothing ever happens to me. I could describe the hotel, the plane trip, blah, blah, blah, however I am pretty sure you want to know about the set. Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, etc. Ok, so now how to describe myself. Well, I’m a nerd. I play violin, I’m a genius at math, and I have only been on one date.  So, on the cab ride over to the set the reality sets in that I am going to meet Benedict and Martin and well I am starting to feel nervous. What if I totally blow it and I don’t get to go on the set or worse yet what if I make a fool of myself in front of Benedict?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I also did a video to go with this story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twmzlCx6XWA

Day One

The day I received the email from PBS I couldn't believe my good fortune. I had won a trip to the UK and a walk on part for the show Sherlock-BBC. So, a month later and I still can’t believe I am on a plane to London. It’s an amazing turn of events because well nothing ever happens to me. I could describe the hotel, the plane trip, blah, blah, blah, however I am pretty sure you want to know about the set. Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, etc. Ok, so now how to describe myself. Well, I’m a nerd. I play violin, I’m a genius at math, and I have only been on one date.  So, on the cab ride over to the set the reality sets in that I am going to meet Benedict and Martin and well I am starting to feel nervous. What if I totally blow it and I don’t get to go on the set or worse yet what if I make a fool of myself in front of Benedict?

So, a set is not like anything you can ever imagine it is crowded and there is a lot of sitting around. I am  to be playing violin on a street corner and as Benedict and Martin walk by, Benedict is supposed to throw some money in my violin case. When the director found out how good I am on violin, they insisted I play myself. I have been prepped, told where not to look, etc and so there I was playing Bach’s Partita number one in front of God and everyone. Before the shot Benedict came over to where I was and introduced himself. I am first one to speak, if that’s what you want to call it. “Oh Hi, so nice to me you, my name is Charlotte. What’s yours?”

I laugh the laugh of the damned. All I need now is a “Me Loves Me Kitty” T-shirt. My face is red and I nervously push my glasses up on my nose. Benedict is a total gentleman and acts as if he doesn’t see me crashing and burning. “So, “Benedict says, “Is this your first trip to London?”

I am tall at almost six feet, however, Benedict is much taller and I feel so small. “Um, Um, yeah, oh I mean yes.” Jesus, could it get worse? Yep, it does. Benedict makes a graceful escape from the nerd web that I spun and I am left at the curb with my violin. When you hear how simple the directions I was given were, you are going to definitely think that I have some sort of genetic deficiency. I  was to stand in front of a fake coffee shop and play my violin. Benedict and Martin would walk by. Benedict then will throw some money in my case and he and Martin would walk away. I had no lines or anything. Simple, right?  WRONG.

So, everything starts out fine. I stand on my curb and play, but then disaster strikes. I blame what happened next on the fucking English climate. I take a small step forward slip on the rain soaked curb as I am playing and then whoosh flat on my ass I go. Violin goes one way, and I and the bow go the other way, the director doesn’t yell cut and so Benedict and Martin stay in character.

Sherlock reaches down and helps the woman up from the curb; John walks over and grabs the violin out of the street. My elbow is starting to really bleed. “Jesus, that hurts.” I whimper

Sherlock leans his head to one side like a curious puppy. “You’re American?”

I have still not heard cut, so I continue on with the scene. “No, shit, Sherlock, you are brilliant. Do you think you could call over Doctor Watson to help me, or is he just ornamental?”

“CUT” As soon as the director yells cut, Benedict ushers me over to the first aid station to get bandaged up. My heart is pounding. How much trouble am I in now? Film is expensive and I’m pretty sure my $40.00 pledge to PBS is not going to cover it. My smart ass mouth has landed me in more hot water than I can imagine. The director beckons to Benedict and I make good my escape. My hands are shaking as I ease an e-cigarette out of my purse. The violin is not mine, so I can make a clean get away. I am almost scott free when I hear Benedict calling behind. “Wait, excuse me? Madame?”

Shit he can’t even remember my name and the title Madame makes me sound like I run a cat house. I slow my pace there is no way I can outrun him. Benedict is out of breath and he huffs and puffs in front of me, and yes even my celibate heart did a flip flop. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, “What was your name again?”

I smiled cynically. “Charlotte, and I am terrible with names as well. What was your again?” I snort laugh through my nose, thinking I am so fucking cool. Trust me it went flat.

Benedict just looks at me politely and then he starts to laugh. I am so nervous I start to laugh too. I am the first one to speak. “Hey, I know I cost the set a lot of money. I have no idea how to pay it back, so I guess I should just leave.”

Benedict makes direct eye contact with me. “It’s your lucky day, Charlotte. The director loved how the scene played; he is going to leave it in.”

I swallow, why I didn’t put on some mascara or something. What’s the scene going to be called beauty and the beast? I’m still sucking on my e cigarette; it fills the air with the smell of peach. Then guess what? No, I didn’t fart, I started to cry. Cry, really? Yep, cry and believe me I don’t cry pretty. Sobbing, face red, tears going down my face, snot coming out of my nose and drooling, I began to cry harder out of embarrassment.

Benedict takes out a handkerchief and pats my shoulder. “There, there, everything is going to be okay.”

 I take the handkerchief, what a class act. I mean who actually hands out a hankie these days? Aw, Benedict you have already broken my heart. I get a semblance of control and sniff and blow my nose on the hankie, and yes you guessed it I started to hand it back to him. I’ve got to give Benedict kudos for politeness, for he just smiled and told me to keep it. Due to my injury, Benedict offered me a lift back to my hotel in his limo. The ride was pretty quiet as Benedict rambled on and on and I just sat mute in horrified shock at the events of the day.

“So, Charlotte, have you ever been to London?” Benedict asks

I shake my head, no.

“Anything you want to see? Tower of London, Big Ben, Parliament, maybe the crown jewels?”

“No, Tower of London, I feel sorry for all those Ravens that have had their wings clipped. They can never be truly free.”

Benedict nods and seems to see me for the first time. “I never thought of it that way, but I suppose it is cruel to clip their wings.”

“Plus,” I added gaining more confidence,” the Tower of London has had too many executions. I guess I am not impressed with man-made buildings.  I would like to see the country side, the real natural England and of course I have always wanted to see the Auto-Icon Jeremy Bentham, you know the stuffed economist.”

“I know who Jeremy Bentham is; I just never figured it to be a place a woman would not want to go to. Not that there is anything wrong with that.” Benedict hastily added.

The ball feels like it is in my court, but again I just sit there like a silent lump.

“So, how would you like to go see Jeremy Bentham and the countryside tomorrow?” Benedict’s voice is full of cheer.

Oh boy so here goes; I swear this is what I said. “Okay so, long as it’s not a date because I don’t date.” Did I just hear the collective moan of every Cumberbitch on the planet? I feel a little sad that Benedict looked so relieved. “No, problem Charlotte, I assure you that you are perfectly safe with me. By the way, how do you feel about motorcycles?" I half, half snort, "I love them I drive an electric Zero Streetfighter.”

Benedict eyes widened in surprise, “Charlotte, you are so different.”

“”You mean, special?” I laugh as I say it, but I don’t feel that it’s funny at all. In fact it makes feel pretty empty inside.

The Limo rolls to a stop in front of my hotel and before I know it I am waving good-bye to the limo, like some kind of major geek. To my surprise though, Benedict waves back.

 


	2. Stop and Look Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As, I looked at the motorcycle seat, I thought. “How in the hell am I going to straddle that seat without my dress going up to my waist. Benedict looked away as I struggled to fit on the seat behind him. By this time I am feeling positively giddy. Nothing has gone wrong. “You know” I say to Benedict, “We call the seat behind the motorcycle driver a bitch seat. I guess this seat is called a Cumberbitch seat over here?” I laugh and snort. Trust me don’t laugh at your own jokes. Benedict smiled thinly and then we were off.

Day 2

So, the next morning I look at the clothes I brought with me. Jeans and T-Shirts, there is not a romantic fluffy blouse among them. I panic what I am going to do? I call downstairs and get directions to a dress shop nearby. I bought a pink dress that looks as if Doris Day should be wearing it, except the dress is pretty short. Oh well, I bought a pair of tights, so the dress won’t look too micro mini. Combine that with the union jack underwear and the platform heels and I was ready for my non-date. I bet as you’re reading this you’re thinking, short dress, high heels, and a ride on a motorcycle, hmm, how is that going to work? Well, you are smarter than I am. I wish I had my reader’s insight, so that I could have saved myself some embarrassment, however, the day did start out okay. I met Benedict out back to avoid the paparazzi. He met me at the door and walked me to his motorcycle. He told me I looked nice and we slowly walked towards our destination. I am not used to high heels, so it seemed like ages before we reached the motorcycle. Well nothing had gone wrong, so I thought I was in the clear. As, I looked at the motorcycle seat, I thought. “How in the hell am I going to straddle that seat without my dress going up to my waist. Benedict looked away as I struggled to fit on the seat behind him. By this time I am feeling positively giddy. Nothing has gone wrong. “You know” I say to Benedict, “We call the seat behind the motorcycle driver a bitch seat. I guess this seat is called a Cumberbitch seat over here?” I laugh and snort. Trust me don’t laugh at your own jokes. Benedict smiled thinly and then we were off.

I can’t really describe how great it is to ride on a motorcycle in London, every turn and acceleration movement is so full of freedom that one cannot help but feel the rush. I am an adrenaline junkie from way back, so needless to say I was in heaven. The Auto-Icon is where the body of Jeremy Bentham resides in University College London, his body was mummified in the 1800’s and willed to the college around 1850. He is most known for his contribution to economics with his theory Utilitarianism. Okay, okay enough of the history lesson. Jeremy Bentham willed his huge sums of money to the college, the only catch being that the college have his body stuffed and drag it out to preside over meetings. Gross, well it gets worse. Jeremy Bentham was stuffed and now resides in a wooden structure that resembles an old phone booth. On the ground beside him is a wax copy of his head. The real head was supposed to be in the Auto-Icon, however, someone messed up the mummification process and his head was too grotesque to display.  Gross, Gross, Gross, well I am sure by now you think I am pretty sick; however, don’t miss it if you go to London. Ok, so back to Benedict we looked at the stuffed mummy, walked around the campus, then decided to go on our other adventure-the English Countryside. Well, before we left I had to go pee, and that is where the unknown disaster struck me. Ok, so if you don’t wear dresses and tights very often, the bathroom is an experience in semi acrobatics. Just as I got the tights pulled up, my underwear was a wrinkled uncomfortable wad. The last thing I wanted to do was to have to pull my underwear out of my crack, so I started over. I finally got everything straightened out and happily ran down the stairs to where Benedict was waiting. I hoped on back of the bike and whoosh we were off. Now dear reader what happened next was well epic. As we made our way through the city, I thought it strange that so many people were catcalling, things like, “Way to go Love. Hey fancy a pint? Come ride with me and I’ll fly your flag up the pole.” I was pretty embarrassed. I thought the British were supposed to be civilized and polite. Once we left the city the ride became even more enjoyable. I can only say save your money and visit the countryside. The air smelled of freshly turned earth, and there was just enough moisture in the air to ruin my hair, however, there was not enough to make a person feel sticky and uncomfortable. My eyes couldn’t take in enough of the scenery, the ducks, the green grass, the flowers, the thatched cottages,  the brilliant blue sky, my God the English Countrysiderocks. We finally arrived at our destination, Hampstead Heath.

There were just a few people around so I enthusiastically jumped off the bike as soon as it rolled to a stop. “Oh my God, “I shouted. “I am in Narnia.” A few people turned around and smiled. Then I heard Benedict calling my name. “Charlotte, wait come back. Charlotte your…”

I ignored him. I mean it can’t get much better than Benedict Cumberbatch chasing one through Hampstead Heath. Okay, so it wasn’t a mad passionate romp, but well I could pretend, right? Benedict is finally behind me and something in his voice makes me stop. People are staring and laughing by this time, and well I thought that English people must really be happy.

“Stop,” Benedict pants as he comes up behind me. Suddenly, I feel a bunch of material being pulled out of my tights and the sound of the elastic waist band snapping back into place. Oh dear God no.  Benedict is trying not to laugh because he can see how embarrassed I am. “Sorry, but your panties were… you know… showing. Nice Union Jack by the way.”

By this time I am ready to hide. “You mean all through London my underwear was showing?”

Benedict looks down at the ground. “It would appear so.”

I look away and make my way towards the river. God, I am so stupid. Close to the bank I lose my balance and go tumbling down the embankment. Benedict runs after me and slips as well. We both roll for what seems like forever. At the bottom of the hill we look at each other, my dress is torn, one of my shoes is embedded in the grass somewhere, and my tights are ripped and muddy. Benedict fared a little better he just has a bit of dirt and grass stains on his clothing. His hair well it looked perfect.

“Charlotte, are you okay?” Benedicts asks in concern.

I look down, shit could it get any worse. I start to laugh, and then Benedict looks away and starts to laugh. He reaches over towards my leg and my heart begins to pound. Is he going to grab my leg? I close my eyes and I feel him pick something off me.

Benedict is smiling. “You didn’t want to keep that slug did you?”

I shake my head. “ Gross, no, and now let me see. I showed by union jack panties all over London, right?”

Benedict nods solemnly “Yes, Charlotte all of London saw your panties and it is probably gone viral by now.”

I sigh, lean back and look at the clouds. God, they are beautiful. “Hey, Benedict, when was the last time you played the cloud shape game, or do you do that as kids over here?”

Benedict leans back. “We do play the cloud shape game over here too.”

We are both silent for a moment taking in the beauty. “Hey, doesn’t that one look like a dragon?” I exclaim.

Benedict groans. “Oh no, anything but a Dragon please.”

I laugh. “Oh, sorry, I wouldn’t want you to suffer desolation or anything.”

I don’t know how long we laid there looking at the clouds, but we both agreed that it was the most relaxing afternoon, that we had experienced in a while.

Benedict leaned up on one elbow. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m starved, but I can’t go anywhere like this.” I said as I gestured towards my ripped tights and torn dress. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we go back to my room and order room service?”

Oh God, did I just ask Benedict Cumberbatch back to my room? NOOOOOOOOOOOO. Okay, I have to stay calm. “I mean you know, we could have something to eat, and then watch a movie or something.” My throat hurts and I am starting to feel so small and stupid.

Benedict comes to the rescue. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s do that, however, I won’t be able to stay too long.”

I nod my head enthusiastically like a puppy going for its first walk. “Ok, ok that sounds good.”

Benedict makes sure that I am all covered up before I get on the seat, and then off we go.

The ride back to my hotel is uneventful and I am starting to feel nervous. We go in the back way and when were outside of my room Benedict, picks up his phone and starts texting. “Sorry, Charlotte I have to go, I had a wonderful afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow on the set.”

I am ready to cry, so I nod my head mutely. Poor Benedict probably pushed a panic button on his phone to have a buddy get him out of the situation.  I sigh. “I had a great time too, maybe I‘ll see you tomorrow.”

Once the door shuts, I exhale deeply, and then I make my way towards the bathroom and take a shower. I felt refreshed afterwards and my Hello Kitty PJ’s are so comfortable. I then look at the room service menu. After I day like I’ve had I am just going to order dessert. My eyes scan the column and fixate on one dessert. One item reads, Spotted Dick.  “No Way,” I laugh. So, I called room service. When the clipped voice answered on the other end, I stifled a giggle and ordered the Spotted Dick dessert. I switched on the TV and was just in time to catch the last few minutes of Somewhere in Time. Christopher Reeves, as Richard Collier has just died of a broken heart, so that he can join Elise McKenna, played by Jane Seymour. They met in 1912 when Richard went back in time. The day is too much and I cry at the ending. A knock at the door startles me. Gosh, that was quick; room service usually took around a half hour. I opened the door without asking who it was. Now, I know what you are thinking, what woman from Southern California would just open the door without asking? Well, give me a break; England makes a person feel safe. Benedict stood there with a take-out container, of salad.

“I felt bad about having to run off so, I thought I bring you by something to eat,” Benedict smiled, then noticed the PJs and my tear stained face. “Charlotte, are you okay?”

I nodded. “Somewhere in Time, was on. Have you seen that movie?”

Benedict nodded. “Yes, it is a wonderfully romantic movie. However, it’s just a movie, so no more tears okay?”

I nodded and then we sat down at the little table in my room. We are a third of the way through the salad, when I hear a knock on the door. “Hmm, “I thought, “Who could that be?” As I am opening the door I remember my dessert order, however, it is too late to shut the door, or meet the room service guy in the hall, and in his most imperious manner he says as he is taking off the lid to my dessert. “Enjoy your Spotted Dick, Miss.”  I glared at him as he left. Benedict is already starting to laugh as he imitates the room service guy.

“Enjoy your Spotted Dick, Miss.” Benedict’s impersonation was perfect.

I shrug helplessly at Benedict. “Well it’s never a dull moment with me.”

Benedict smiles and shakes his head. “Yes, Miss. How about some of that Spotted Dick, please?”

I laugh and playfully punch Benedict on the arm. “Hey, maybe I don’t want to share my Spotted Dick.”

Now, dear reader, don’t let the name of the dessert put you off, it is really quite good, and if you order it under Spotted Dog, you will still get the delicious dessert, without the embarrassment. Okay, so back to Benedict, we talked about movies for a while and he actually sat through “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”. What is your favorite saying in the movie Benedict asks afterwards? I don’t hesitate,”Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

He nods thoughtfully, and then gets up to leave. “I have an early start time on the set tomorrow. See you tomorrow, Charlotte. I walked him to the door, hoping for a kiss. It’s pretty obvious I’m begging, so Benedict bends down and kisses my forehead. “Goodnight, Charlotte.”

“Yeah, umm, you too,” I stutter, and then just like that he’s gone.

 

 

 

 


	3. 8 minutes 19 seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need a dead body for our shoot tomorrow and I thought of you. The director agreed that it was a terrific idea; after all we are already paying you anyway for your bit part. So, Charlotte, how about it? Do you want to be a dead body for Sherlock, please?” Benedict asks in a serious tone.  
> I want to do the Snoopy happy dance, however, I act casual. “Sure, anything for Sherlock.” I reply calmly.

Day 3

A deep depression settled over me as the third day of my trip rolled around, today was my last day on the set, and to make matters worse I didn’t have enough money to take a cab. I suppose you are wondering what I spent the money on. Art, music, books on Shakespeare, perhaps? Well, um, okay I bought a million T-Shirts of Sherlock, one Doctor Who T-Shirt, and a purse with pictures of William and Kate on it, oh, oh and a Paddington Toy Bear. I sighed as I looked at the pile of T-Shirts on my bed. Maybe the front desk would be able to map out a public transportation route for me. As it turned out the set was only about 3 miles from my hotel, I think that is about 5 kilometers, sorry I must have been absent the day we covered the metric system. Okay, so with my umbrella in hand I set out to walk to the set. Even though the rain was coming down pretty hard, I didn’t mind. The wet cobble stone streets were quintessential London in my mind, after all wasn’t it rainy when Lucy entered the wardrobe into Narnia?

About half way to the set the charm of the rain had worn off and I was in a bad mood again. Now, dear reader, take some advice from me, never let the universe know you are having a bad day, because it will only get worse. Sometimes I think that Greek Mythology is really the way things are run and that the gods sit up there and laugh at our misfortunes. I was so immersed in my own thoughts that I barely noticed when a gust of wind jerked my umbrella out of my hands and into the street. I ran after it only to get there in time to see a bus run over it. I swear the guy did it on purpose. By the time I got to the set I was soaked. Someone from wardrobe met me at the entrance of set and took me off to a trailer to get a change of clothes. I would love to tell you that I fit perfectly into one of Louise Brealey’s outfits, but no such luck I am not very small. I finally ended up wearing a pair of sweats that I assumed one of the crew left behind. Wardrobe could have at least let me wear the coat. The coat, you ask? Yeah, you know the long, beautiful coat Sherlock wears. I didn’t see much of Benedict and by lunch time I was pretty bored.

Around noon hospitality sets out lunch. There are several long tables with sandwiches, fruit, stuff to drink, it’s buffet style so that the actors can come and go as they like. I grab a cheese sandwich and sit at one of the tables that are sheltered by a temporary canvas roof. I sit there about an hour, pathetically waiting for Benedict. He and Martin finally come and get some lunch. Benedict briefly waves to me and then he and Martin sit at another table, going over the script I guess. I watch them out of the corner of my eye, hoping for an invite. I don’t get an invite and other tables have begun to fill up with cast and crew. Suddenly, I am transported back to Junior High. Its lunch time and no one will sit with me. I only get noticed when a boy squirts me with a ketchup packet. Everyone laughs. A wave of sadness hits me in the gut so hard I feel like I’m going to throw up. I get up from the table and just like Junior High; I finally find a place to hide out. Okay, so in Junior High I would have sat there and cried. However, I’m an adult now, so I pulled out my e cigarette and let the nicotine course through my body.  Don’t let anyone fool you, there are some great things about being an adult, and I’m ashamed to say smoking and eating junk food for dinner and staying up late are just some of them. Well I was just about done with my e cig when Benedict came and sat on the steps to the trailer with me. Of course it’s his trailer I sitting in front of, he must think I’m some kind of freak. Without a word he starts smoking as well.

After a few inhales Benedict looks over at me. “Feeling better?”

I really am feeling quite relaxed. “Just capital, how about you?” I laugh.

Benedict smiled. “There is nothing quite like a cigarette.” He then blows out a plume of smoke.

I openly gawk. God, he even looks sexy, smoking a cigarette. Then out of the blue Benedict looks at me and says, “Charlotte, how do you feel about playing a dead body?”

My heart is pounding. Is this some kind of British foreplay?

“We need a dead body for our shoot tomorrow and I thought of you. The director agreed that it was a terrific idea; after all we are already paying you anyway for your bit part. So, Charlotte, how about it? Do you want to be a dead body for Sherlock, please?”  Benedict asks in a serious tone.

I want to do the Snoopy happy dance, however, I act casual. “Sure, anything for Sherlock.” I reply calmly.

Benedict smiles, and then frowns as he studies me intently. “Charlotte, are those my sweats?”

I feel a little panicked. “I have no idea. I mean I ran out of cab money and had to walk here. On the way over my umbrella blew in the street and this guy in a truck ran over it. One of the wardrobe ladies gave me something dry to wear because I was soaked, so I really don’t know if they are yours or not.” My voice trails off softly and I swallow a couple of times.

Benedict gestures for me to lean a little closer. No, problem, I comply immediately. Benedict looks at the tag in the back of my sweatshirt. “Yes, Charlotte they’re mine, but no problem you look much better in them than I do.” Benedict laughs.

“Oh, I’m sorry the wardrobe lady isn’t going to get into trouble is she? My mom works in wardrobe at a local theatre and she has to be very careful with the clothes. I’m sorry.”

Benedict leaves his hand on my shoulder. “Relax; I always keep an extra set of clothes in my trailer. No one is going to get in trouble. Now, if you want to wait around, I will have my car give you a lift home.”

My eyes were as big as saucers. “Okay,” I whisper. I feel as if I have just been granted an audience with the Pope.

On the ride back to my hotel the rain was really starting to come down. Everything was going okay and I listened to Benedict as he made small talk. The art of conversation seems to be dying in this day of digital communication, so I was pretty impressed with the smooth way Benedict transitioned from one topic to another. Then all of a sudden I looked out the window and in the center was a little kitten. “Stop,” I shouted.

The driver threw on the brakes. “What the hell is wrong, Charlotte?” Benedict growled.

I pointed to the center divider. “Look a kitten, we have to rescue it. It’s going to get run over.” I cried.

Benedict pulled out his iPhone. “I’ll call animal control; it’s too dangerous for either of us to go out in that rain and traffic.”

My eyes filled with tears. “You mean you are going to call the pound?”

Benedict sighed. “Charlotte, this world is a broken place; you can’t save everything that’s lost.”

I looked out at the kitten, even from inside the car I could tell it was crying. The car was stopped, so without a word I opened the door and ran out into the rain and traffic. The rain blinded my vision as I ran for the center divider. How I managed to avoid getting hit by the oncoming traffic I’ll never know. Perhaps, St. Francis was looking after me. When I reached the kitten it was shaking from fear and the cold. “Oh you poor thing,” I whispered as I picked the little bundle of wet fur. I desperately held up my hands to stop the traffic and somehow we made it across the street. Benedict reached out his hands for the kitten, just as my shoulder bag fell off my shoulder and into the street. I reached down to grab it just as a cab came barreling down the road. I jumped to the side of the curb and narrowly avoided getting hit. I lay on the sidewalk and looked up at Benedict. He was holding the kitten and as I looked up at him I thought that kittens and Benedict are just a few of my favorite things. He held out his hand and helped me in the car. “Charlotte, you could have been killed. What the hell were you thinking? Life is dangerous enough without you taking unnecessary risks.” He then made a phone call. “Hello, it’s me, Benedict; do you think you could take in a kitten?” He paused. “Okay, I’ll be right there and thank you, Amanda.” Benedict ended his phone call then turned to me. “Martin and Amanda have agreed to take in your little kitten. Is that acceptable?”

I nodded and then looked down Benedict still looked angry. We dropped off the kitten at Martin and Amanda’s and then headed back to my hotel. “Charlotte, you must not take these sorts of chances. Life can be taken away so quickly.”

I looked down at my folded hands. “I know about your kidnapping in Africa and how you narrowly avoided getting executed. “ (Now, dear reader, I am going to digress for a moment. I truly believe that Benedict and his companions were saved by a group of women and that the Cumberbitch movement started in Africa. Okay back to the story.) In an instant I was transported back in time to the worst day of my life. “Benedict, when I was seventeen my best friend, Shawn and I got a job at a pizza delivery place. We had grown up together and I really thought that we would get married someday; until I found out he was gay. I was the first person he told. We made plans to go to the same college, and we were going to build one of those octagon solar houses in the desert. Then one day a guy comes in the pizza place and holds us at gunpoint. He told us to get on the ground and put our hands behind our necks. I refused and told him that if I was going to die it would be on my feet. Shawn begged the man for his life and mine and the guy shot him in the chest. He bled out in my arms. I still remember trying to stop the blood flow, then his face turned an awful gray and I literally saw the light leave his eyes. His eyes in life were so blue and mischievous. I never realized that a person’s eyes got dark and changed color when they died. Sometimes I still have nightmares about it.”

I had no idea how the long the car had been stopped, but when I looked up I noticed we were in the back parking lot of my hotel. For a moment neither of us said anything, then Benedict spoke. “Let me walk you up to your room, Charlotte.” We got out of the car and then went up to my room. I excused myself and changed clothes in the bathroom, the only clean t-shirts I had were the Sherlock ones. I sighed and slipped one of them on. I came out of the bathroom, then called downstairs to have Benedict’s sweats laundered. Benedict sat at the small table in my room smoking like a chimney. I was about ready to tell him it was a non-smoking room, then shrugged and took a e-cigarette out and joined him. I was the first to speak. “You know what makes me feel better? I play a game with myself. If the sun suddenly went dark, it would take us eight minutes and 19 seconds before we on earth realized it.”

Benedict looked at me quizzically. “How does that make you feel better?”

“Well, I pretend that I only have 8 minutes and 19 seconds left to live and then I usually do something impulsive, like once I went bungee jumping on the spur of the moment, another time I jumped in a fountain with my 10 year old niece at Disneyland and splashed until security came and kicked us out. Basically, I kind of give myself a Ferris Bueller day off.”

Benedict stared off in the distance. “Charlotte, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”

I nodded. “I know.” I said softly.

Benedict turned around. “Goodnight, Charlotte. See you tomorrow.”

 


	4. Chapter Dust Motes and Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banishing my own demons reminds me of trying to catch dust mote in the sunlight. The dust mote is there, I can see it, but how do I catch it?  
> Benedict looks at me as we leave the Karaoke Bar. “Hey, a penny for your thoughts, Charlotte.”  
> I looked back into those beautiful, blue-green eyes. “I was just thinking that banishing one’s own demons, is a lot like trying to catch a dust mote. Did you ever try and catch dust motes when you were a kid?” I ask for I am desperate to get back to having fun.   
> Benedict laughs. “You change gears, pretty quickly, Charlotte.”  
> I smiled back, “That’s right, life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Day 4

Tomorrow will be my last day in London and I am starting to feel so sad. I have no illusions and I know that the odds of Benedict keeping in touch with me are about as likely as the Queen stopping by for tea. Still I do get to play a dead body on Sherlock, so that’s something, right? I sighed and got ready for my long walk to the set. I was just a little ways from my hotel, when a motorcycle pulled up to the curb beside me. It was Benedict; he didn’t say a word, as he held out a helmet for me. I smiled, grabbed the helmet, hopped on the back of the bike, and then we were off. I know I’ve mentioned this before, however, dear reader I cannot stress enough how comforting it is to ride on a motorcycle with your arms around the waist of someone you care about. For me the danger of the ride was counteracted by the close proximity of a person I felt safe with. Well, all too soon we were on the set. Benedict went one way and I as dashed off to wardrobe and makeup.

Now up until this time I had not given much thought about what I would be wearing, or rather not wearing. I cleared my throat nervously and asked the wardrobe lady if I had to be naked under the sheet in St’ Bart’s morgue. “Not unless you want to be,” she acerbically replied. I would like to say that it took hours to blot out my gorgeous Southern California tan with cover up. However, I am so fish belly white that the makeup guy raised an eyebrow and commented. “Are you sure you’re from Southern California?”

I nodded and thought I would try to be clever by giving a glib answer.  “Yes, my agent doesn’t want my skin to be sun damaged before my Victoria Secret Swimsuit layout.” My snort laugh was the only sound in the room. The makeup guy just stared at me until I -fell silent. I then laughed nervously. “Um well it’s a joke.”

The makeup guy flared his nostrils, as if some noxious odor had filled the room. “I see, shall we begin, now?”

I laugh. “Hey, that was like Kahn in the last Star Trek movie.”  I scrunch up my face into scary bad guy mode and say, “Shall we begin?” I let my voice trail off. I felt like the lamest person on the planet. I sighed and nodded for the makeup guy to proceed. It seemed like hours later before I was led onto the set. I kept a sheet wrapped around me, as I crawled up on the slab in St. Bart’s morgue, for there was no way Benedict was seeing me in a two piece strapless bikini. I mean my body isn’t horrible, but it’s not A list either, so I thought I’d play it safe and keep covered. It was cold as I lay on the slab waiting for the scene to be set. As I laid there shivering, a terrible thought came to me. I looked around to make sure no one was watching and took a look under the sheet to make sure that the end of my small boobs, weren’t, well you know head lighting.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard Benedict’s rich voice behind me. “Is everything alright Charlotte, nothing missing I hope. Would you like me to take a look?”

My face turned so red and I was so nervous that I stuttered. “Well, I was just making sure that the cold hadn’t given me, umm, you know, chill bumps.”

Benedict looked down at me and I was surprised that he was blushing. “Oh, of course, everything seems fine to me.” He said as he briefly looked at my chest.

I think we were both relieved when the director yelled, “Places everyone.”

Scene at St. Bart’s

Molly gently pulled the sheet back to reveal the dead body underneath.

Sherlock walked around the body a few times then began to make observations. “The bruising around the throat suggests that the victim was strangled, however, I don’t think that’s what killed her.”

John looked down at the woman before him. It looked like she had been strangled; however, Sherlock must have seen something to make him think otherwise. John carefully looked at the body again, and then he noticed that the victim’s left hand had strange puncture marks at the end of the fingertips. John held up the hand for further inspection. “Molly, have you done a toxicology panel on the victim?” John asked.

Molly nodded. “Yes, but the results aren’t back yet?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It must be so boring to be average.”

John glared over at Sherlock. “Okay, what are the marks on the end of her fingers on the left hand?”

Sherlock paced with his hands steepled in front of him. “The puncture marks are on the left hand fingertips but not on the right. We know the victim was the violinist we saw the other night, and we also know that most violinists have calluses on their left hand fingertips, however, her left hand fingertips were clearly punctured by something other than violin strings.” Sherlock walked over and took the victim’s left hand in his own and began to examine the fingertips on the left hand.

“CUT,” the director yelled. Everyone stopped in mid-sentence. “Hey, dead body. You are supposed to be dead. So how is that you are holding Benedict’s hand?” The director snapped as he stood next to the slab where I lay. I’m not sure who started laughing first, but pretty soon the whole room was laughing. I was so embarrassed, until as usual Benedict came to my rescue.

“It’s alright, Charlotte, I was holding your hand too.” Benedict laughed.

The director put his hands on his hips. “Okay, everybody go ahead and laugh. Get it out of your systems.” Approximately, ten minutes later we started filming and the scene played out how it was supposed to. I was so relieved when the scene was over that when the director yelled, “Cut,” that I jumped off the table and ran for wardrobe as quickly as possible.

I felt pretty relaxed after I was finally dressed in my own clothes. So, what was I going to do for the rest of the day? Benedict came around the corner, and I thought to myself that he had such perfect timing.

“Charlotte, what Ferris Bueller activity do you want to do today?” Benedict asked cheerfully.

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not so I give a ridiculous answer just in case. “Uhmm, let’s scale Big Ben.”

Benedict frowned. “I don’t think I can manage that. Is there anything else?”

“Well, can we borrow that Violin from props? If so, I want to play “Feed the Birds,” on the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral. “I am feeling pretty giddy by this time.

Benedict winks and then a few moments later returns with the violin. “Wow,” I exclaim, “I can’t believe that you were able to get permission so quickly.”

Benedict shrugged. “Well, let’s just say that I pinched it at the right time.”

I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not, so I just enjoy the moment. Benedict decided to go in disguise, so that we wouldn’t be bothered by the paparazzi. He is dressed like a swing kid from the 1930’s. The outfit consisted of a long, beige trench coat, fedora hat, and dark glasses. “You look so cool,” I gushed. Benedict then bowed, took off the hat put it in the little motorcycle trunk and we were off on our adventure. St. Paul’s is such a beautiful place, its dome kind of looks like the U.S. Capitol Building. I highly recommend seeing it; however, go off season so that the ambience is not ruined by hordes of tourists.  The fog was swirling around the steps and only a handful of people were clustered around the front of the Cathedral. Benedict parked out of sight and stayed to the shadows. I took the violin out of the case and tuned it.

At first I was a little nervous when people stopped to listen, then a sort of heaviness settled over me. Now when I say heaviness I don’t mean tension, the kind of heaviness I am describing is the kind of heaviness that person feels when a baby or a pet relaxes in one’s arms as it falls asleep. If I am not performing that heaviness usually makes me sleepy, so that might be a reason no one ever asks me to babysit. Anyway once I had gained entrance into that sacred musical place, I played for Benedict, I played for the birds, I played for Shawn, and for others I had lost. Though I am not Jewish, most of my family on my Dad’s side died in the concentration camps, so I played for them, wishing I could go back in time and protect them from the tragedy that consumed their lives. When I stopped playing a small group around me clapped.  I smiled shyly, said, Thank you,” and went over to where Benedict was standing.

Benedict took off his sunglasses; he had tears in his eyes. “Charlotte, that was phenomenal, you are an artist, so promise me you won’t let your talent go to waste.”

I thank him, not saying what I want to. I want to scream, “I have tried. Do you know how many people can play violin? Millions, hell any Asian kid under the age of four plays better than I do. Not everyone has the talent you do.” However, I just smile and off we ago again. On the way back to my hotel, we stop at a Karaoke Bar, get a drink and sing along with the song, “Mama”, by Chemical Romance. The music is loud and heavy and Benedict screams out the lyrics as angrily as I do. “What does he have to be angry about?” I thought. I guess it just goes to show that we all have our own demons and we can only banish them individually as we see them. Banishing my own demons reminds me of trying to catch dust mote in the sunlight. The dust mote is there, I can see it, but how do I catch it?

Benedict looks at me as we leave the Karaoke Bar. “Hey, a penny for your thoughts, Charlotte.”

I looked back into those beautiful, blue-green eyes. “I was just thinking that banishing one’s own demons, is a lot like trying to catch a dust mote. Did you ever try and catch dust motes when you were a kid?” I ask for I am desperate to get back to having fun.

Benedict laughs. “You change gears, pretty quickly, Charlotte.”

I smiled back, “That’s right, life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Benedict looks at me thoughtfully, “You know, we could use that as a mantra for a new religion.”

“Well, let’s make our religious garb a sheet. For we already know you look good in one.” I laughed.

We laugh together for a few seconds, and then sigh. Benedict looks at his watch. “Charlotte, I’ve had a lovely day, but I have another engagement.”

Well, I feel as if the clock has just struck midnight and that just like Cinderella, I am standing by the side of the road in a torn dress, with a rotten pumpkin, and a sad eyed dog.

  

 

 

 

 

  

 


	5. Falling Snowflakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict looks away and his eyes are dark and angry. His expression is one that I have seen him use for Sherlock and it creeps me out because Benedict is nothing like Sherlock. “Charlotte, I never want to hear you put yourself down like that again. You are a wonderful, smart, beautiful person and if you assume that a person like me couldn’t fall for a person like you, then you have greatly underestimated your charm. Charlotte, one of the things that impress me the most about you is your ability to care. After all who would dash out into traffic at rush hour, just to save a homeless kitten? You are also the only person I have heard that felt grief over the fact that the Tower of London ravens have their wings clipped so they can never fly far. Charlotte, you have the ability to live in the moment and laugh at yourself. All of those are such rare qualities. As for you and I, it is simply a case of bad timing.”

Day 5

Well, the day is here, I will be leaving London today. I got a text from Benedict early that morning that he was going to try and stop by to say good-bye. One Continental Breakfast and a chocolate bar from the gift shop later, it appears that he is not going to make it. So, I check out and go downstairs to wait for a cab. I am only there a few minutes when Benedict drives up.

“Hi, Benedict, I am so glad you made it,” I say as I gallop over to him.

Benedict smiles, “I couldn’t miss the opportunity to see you off. You know what they say; when angels fly the sky is clear.”

I nod silently, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Okay, so I have your e-mail and cell number and you have mine, so keep in touch.”

Benedict grins. “Sure thing, Charlotte.”

I take a deep breath and decide that I am going to tell him how I feel. I know, I know a fruitless attempt, however, I would always wonder so I begin. “Um well, I probably will not text you, because well I’m all thumbs.” I say as I nervously laugh at my own joke. “Um Benedict?”

Benedicts leans a little closer. “Yes, Charlotte?”

I sigh and then the words began tumbling from my mouth like tokens from a winning slot machine in Vegas. It was so terrible, that I hesitate to tell you, dear reader. Well, okay I would want to know too.

“So, Benedict, I just wanted you to know that I have had such a good time. Thank you so much for everything and….um I well I sort of have feelings for you. I mean I know I am kind of dorkey, but I am loyal and patient. I wouldn’t mind trying a long distance relationship and well I’m …” My voice trails off and I feel like such an idiot. “Oh, gosh Benedict, never mind I’m sorry,” I say as I get up drag my pink Hello Kitty Suitcase with wheels to a more private place around the corner.”

I hear Benedict get up, so I run. I have to get away, I am so embarrassed. His footsteps pound the pavement. “Charlotte, wait,” he says as he gently restrains my arm. He points to a set of benches at the back of the hotel. “Charlotte, let’s go and sit.”

I am looking down at the ground. “What about my cab?” I sniff.

“Charlotte, you can get another cab, just come and sit by me for a moment,” he says as he pats the bench beside him.

I shuffle over and sit down. I am still not looking up. Benedict puts his hand underneath my chin. “Charlotte, look at me.”

I shake my head no. However, like lookey loos passing a wreck, I look up into Benedict’s eyes. They look sad. Oh, no pity eyes, great. “It’s okay Benedict, I’m fine. I was just being stupid. I mean how could someone like you fall for someone like me? I wear glasses, snort when I laugh and I always, always say the wrong thing.”

Benedict looks away and his eyes are dark and angry. His expression is one that I have seen him use for Sherlock and it creeps me out because Benedict is nothing like Sherlock. “Charlotte, I never want to hear you put yourself down like that again. You are a wonderful, smart, beautiful person and if you assume that a person like me couldn’t fall for a person like you, then you have greatly underestimated your charm. Charlotte, one of the things that impress me the most about you is your ability to care. After all who would dash out into traffic at rush hour, just to save a homeless kitten? You are also the only person I have heard that felt grief over the fact that the Tower of London ravens have their wings clipped so they can never fly far.  Charlotte, you have the ability to live in the moment and laugh at yourself. All of those are such rare qualities. As for you and I, it is simply a case of bad timing.”

The tears are freely flowing down my cheeks now. “I know in a different time and place, ships passing in the night, it’s not you, it’s me, and my all-time favorite, let’s just be friends.” Benedict puts his arms around me and just lets me cry for a few moments. “It’s just that I feel so safe around you, it’s as if nothing bad can ever happen to me again. I know it’s not logical, but I have not felt safe since the shooting and well it is wonderful to not be so, so lonely.” I lean into him for a few minutes, then pull myself away and in a rush the noise of the city shatters my sense of security. I look towards the street. “Look I point, there’s a cab. I’d better go.” Benedict gives me a quick hug. I get up and then turn. “Au revoir, Benedict.”

Benedict is smoking a cigarette; he takes a long drag before he answers me. “Adieu, Charlotte.”

The nuance is not lost on me and I pause. Then spontaneity takes over and I drop the handle of my suitcase and run to Benedict for one more hug. “Please, don’t say Adieu.”

Benedict’s expression is melancholy, then he smiles, and with that smile my world seems safe again. “Au revoir, Charlotte.”

Well, I pretty much cried all the way to the airport, on the flight home, in my car as I drove from the airport, okay well on and off for about three months. A bucket of tears and several pounds of chocolate later things began to settle down to my usual routine. I kept in touch with Benedict through e mail, etc. The first time I emailed him, I fully expected to get a daemon system delivery email failure. However, true to his word Benedict kept in touch, until one day the emails grew fewer and fewer and then not at all.

Christmas Eve 2014 Riverside, CA USA

Wow, I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas. Contrary to popular belief, Southern California can be very Christmasey without snow. For example, in Riverside, where I live we have the Mission Inn(never was a mission though) and it is decorated with so many lights and animated figures that it looks like Disneyland. Anyway, I was sitting with my family in the living room after driving around to see the Christmas lights, when out of the blue I thought of Benedict. “I think I will send him a Christmas email.” I thought.

Email: “Hi, Benedict, I haven’t heard from you in a while. I’m sorry I missed you at San Diego Comic-Con; I had a prior engagement I couldn’t get out of. ( Dear reader, the truth is that I just didn’t have the money and then I said what the hell and drove down to San Diego in hopes that I would be able to buy a ticket. Several hours later I went home empty handed. No Comic Con, no Benedict.) Anyway, I saw the Imitation Game; it was so wonderfully sad, your performance made everyone in the theatre cry. I really think you are going to get an Oscar. If you come out for the Academy Awards give me a call. We could get a coke or something. Geeze that sounds lame, oh well you know what I mean. Anyway I hope you have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Yours Truly, Charlotte.”

Christmas 2014 London, UK

Benedict felt relaxed and happy, it was Christmas and he was in a room filled with family friends. He smiled and walked to a window to watch the snowflakes fall.  Benedict loved how snow made everything look magical. He also loved the way that snow muted the sounds of the city. He frowned when his phone dinged, letting him know he had a message. Benedict took his phone out of his pocket. He looked at who the message was from and smiled fondly. Punching his password on his phone, Benedict prepared to text back.

“Hey, Benedict, I thought you weren’t going to answer any messages today.” A voice called out behind him.

Benedict ignored the speaker and texted back. “Merry X-mas Charlotte, Ben.”

Another voice piped up. “Come on Benedict, who is it?”

Benedict looked out at the falling snowflakes and could never make up his mind whether they were the magic dust from a Christmas Fairy, or the frozen tears of an angel. Maybe they were a little of both.

“Benedict, come on answer us.” A chorus of voices joked.

Benedict smiled and turned around. “You want to know who I am texting.”

A group of friends nodded in unison.

Benedict finished sending the message, and then answered. “The Nerd,” he said and turned around to continue watching the falling snowflakes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Code: bookworm


End file.
